


For Reasons Unknown

by RomulanAle



Series: OC Drabbles [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomulanAle/pseuds/RomulanAle
Summary: It was a rather good plan, much to Basil’s credit. Move into town, play private investigator, help people with their problems until they got suspicious, then skip town and start the whole thing over again. He had started the whole game a long, long time ago.Because of his condition, he couldn’t stay in one place very long.There were, of course, drawbacks.





	For Reasons Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> this literally just oc drabbles so enjoy this alex

                Basil is sitting at the bar in the back of the warm, crowded club that he hadn’t even bothered to remember the name of. He’d been in hundreds of bars. Perhaps thousands, even. After a while he had stopped paying attention to the worn out neon signs that flickered on and off; a beacon to weary travelers.

                _Come_ , the signs said, _look no farther. Drink here. Find company here_.

                And drink Basil did, though he figured the company would come soon enough. The place truly was packed. There was a cosmopolitan sitting in front of him, the cool pink, reddish liquid swirling in a way that was practically hypnotic. It was his third drink so far. His third cosmopolitan. He lifted it delicately and took a sip.

                He had forgotten why he always ordered cosmopolitans.

                He had forgotten a lot of things. Basil’s eyebrows furrowed in thought as he stared at the drink, which swirled calmly.

                Maybe it was his mother’s favorite drink? Maybe a pretty young girl had recommended it to him in a club just like this? Maybe he just liked the way they tasted. He settled on the last explanation and raised his head to watch the room, lifting his glass while he spun in his seat.

                Speaking of pretty young girls.

                She was on the dancefloor. The song playing was one that Basil didn’t recognize. It must have been new. There were lights spinning over dancers. Lights on the floor. Lights flashing over the walls. The multicolored flares somehow accentuated the woman’s features. She was wearing heels, the kind that you wrapped around your ankle and tied, a tight T-shirt for a band that Basil barely knew, and fishnet tights under the shortest shorts he had ever seen. Her hair was long and loose, and it swished fabulously as she shook her head in time to the beat blasting from the speakers. To Basil, she looked like trouble. She looked like the kind of girl his father would have warned him to stay away from. He could hear his disdainful voice behind his eyes.

                _Look at her. She’s below you, Basil. Some bird at a rub-a-dub like this. You’re disgusting._

                Basil set his glass back down on the counter with a bit more force than he had meant to. He realized it was empty. He took a breath and stepped off of the stool.

                It wasn’t hard getting her to invite him to her flat. A little dancing. A little flirting. The easy atmosphere of the club and a few well timed breaths on her neck. She had looked him up and down. His curly hair, his roman nose, his grey eyes, the spattering of freckles over his cheeks, his tight shirt and even tighter trousers, the scars that she hadn’t asked about.  

                They started kissing as soon as they stumbled through the door.

                In the morning, Basil went on a scavenger hunt for his scattered clothes while the woman –her name might have been Lucy? Lily? –pretended to be asleep. Bless her. Basil got dressed quickly and muttered into the quiet bedroom.

                “You were great, luv. Absolutely smashing.”

***

                Basil’s assistant dropped a large file onto his desk, papers narrowly missing the caricature of them he was doodling in an old notebook.

                “Good morning to you, too.” He muttered. He stifled a yawn.

                “Sorry about that.” The assistant responded quickly, but their lips quirked upwards for a brief moment while Basil was staring at the offending file.

                “What’s this then?”

                “A case. For you. Well, obviously for you, or I wouldn’t have brought it to you.”

                It was a rather good plan, much to Basil’s credit. Move into town, play private investigator, help people with their problems until they got suspicious, then skip town and start the whole thing over again. He had started the whole game a long, long time ago.

                Because of his condition, he couldn’t stay in one place very long.

                There were, of course, drawbacks.

                Pictures of him on the internet, for one. Things were much simpler before the days of Google, when he was practically untraceable. There would always be stories, and photographs, as much as he tried to help it.

                _Hey you’ve got a bloke like that? We had a bloke like that too! Oddest thing, he hadn’t aged a day!_

Now with all the advancements in the world, it was harder to cover his tracks. To start fresh with every couple of decades or so. There was probably a website or two dedicated to the buck-toothed, red-haired cockney bloke who moved from city to city.

                “Sir?” The voice broke through Basil’s reverie and he noticed his assistant was standing in front of his desk, arms crossed.

                “Sorry, luv. You’ve got me all… distracted. What were you running your pretty little gob about?” Basil’s mouth was bent into a sleazy smile and he rested his chin in his hand. His assistant rolled their eyes and continued.

                “I was asking you what you thought. About the case?”

                “Another suspicious wife thinking her hubby’s running round with some other bird. Better than another missing person.”

                Basil stood up, dusted off his jumper, and grinned.

                “To the shag mobile”

                “Please tell me you haven’t had sex in our van.”

                Basil was already halfway out of the door.

                ***

                The glove box of Basil’s van was full of pictures. It was strictly out of bounds for anyone else, and even if one of his travelling companions got the urge to snoop, it was always locked. Basil rarely opened it, himself.

                He hated thinking about the past. It was silly. A waste of time. He really only even kept the pictures, he told himself, to prevent anyone else from seeing them. He couldn’t destroy them, it was too risky. He could be caught. If anyone saw him with a picture of himself smiling with Dalia, or Samson, or Terry, or his mother, what would he say?

                Many of the pictures were antique photographs that looked as though they belonged in some museum rather than the dusty glove box of a Volkswagen van, but some of them were newer, glossier. Some of them were of Basil and someone else, and some of them were just portraits of other people.

                All of them made Basil wince.

                He was adding a new picture today.

                It was a ritual he always performed alone. The van was parked on the side of some dusty street. It was summer. Basil held the key in his hand, tracing his fingertips over the familiar edges and curves. He had had this van for years. After a few minutes of simply feeling the small piece of metal between his fingers, he inserted into the lock, and slowly turned it. Basil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding as the locking mechanism clicked and gave way, allowing the glove box to open and the papers inside to become visible. The newest picture was strewn on the dashboard, and Basil quickly snatched it and placed it on the very top of the stacks of papers. He tried to tear his eyes away from the open glove box, but his gaze was cemented on the pictures. There were a few sheets of paper, too. Love letters, drawings, grocery lists signed with hearts.

                _Dear Basil, I don’t know why I’m writing this stupid note._

_You’ll move on, I know._

_You’ll be shagging Swedish twins as soon as I’m gone, just like yo_

_Eggs,_

_Butter,_

_Flour,_

_Your sweet ass and that cookie recipe you keep bragging about you absolu_

_1(642)3527845 –Riley_

_Basil,_

_Is this what you meant by “write you something”?_

_I don’t have much to write._

_We were never good with words, anyway._

_With love,_

                Basil slammed the glove box shut and locked it. His hands were trembling –stupid –as he adjusted the rearview mirror, and he could see the bags under his eyes –impossible –in the tiny surface.

                _You’re being overdramatic. Look at you_. He admonished himself _. Absolutely fucking nutty_.

                He pulled away.


End file.
